


.Gauze.

by The_Wild_Sophia



Category: Clone High
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, i lied this is really sad, im sorry this is kinda sad, its more of a vent for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26884900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wild_Sophia/pseuds/The_Wild_Sophia
Summary: You had tried everything you could to distract yourself -- to stop yourself -- but in the end it was all for nothing.
Relationships: Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High)/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	.Gauze.

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: Self-harm, brief talk about self-hatred.  
> This is mostly just a vent for me. I relapsed a few days ago after 15 days (which I'm not too upset about but still, you know) and I started writing this to calm myself down. I was debating finishing this and eventually decided to finish it and publish it so yeah here you guys go.

You had tried everything you could to distract yourself -- to  _ stop  _ yourself -- but in the end it was all for nothing. You quietly sobbed as you felt the blood seep into your shirt when you wrapped your arms around your torso, bruises already starting to form on your upper arm where you had bitten them. Your nails dug into your sides as you held yourself tighter.

“ _ This has to stop. _ ” You thought as you slowly let go for yourself and sat up in your bed, not caring at the fact that you were getting blood on your sheets, “ _ This has to  _ **_stop_ ** _. I can’t keep doing this. _ ” 

You carefully stood up, making sure not to fall down from lightheadedness, and made your way over to your bathroom. You turned on the shower and stripped down while waiting for the shower to heat up. Once hot enough, you slipped into the shower and started cleaning yourself off. 

It hurt, it  _ fucking burned _ , when the water ran over your cuts. You had to hold back a scream as the blood was dragged down the drain by the water. You grabbed the body soap and began cleaning your chest of your blood, trying your best not to get it on cuts. You didn’t bother washing your hair. 

When you were done, you turned the water off and dried yourself off, not looking at yourself once in the mirror. You dropped the towel on the floor and walked out of the bathroom to your dresser. You sluggishly clothed yourself before looking for your first aid kit. 

Normally you wouldn’t bother with covering them, opting to just cover them with a sweatshirt, but you had begun to do so after Van Gogh had talked to you about it. He was so understanding about it too; he knew that sometimes it was just too hard to stop, but had asked that you at least take care of yourself afterwards. 

You grabbed the bottle or rubbing alcohol and cotton balls, saturated the cotton with the alcohol and got to work. If you thought the water burned, you hissed as the alcohol hit your arms, feeling as if they were on fire. It took a while since you would constantly stop to calm yourself down but when you were finished disinfecting them you grabbed the gauze pads and gauze itself before covering them, tightening and securing them with self-adhering tape. You patted your bandaged arms before pulling a sweatshirt over your head and lying down. 

You only laid there for a few minutes before you slowly stood up and put your shoes on, stopping only to look at the time.

‘11:46pm’ it read. 

Did you really want to bother him this late? You hesitated before opening the door and making your way to his dorm. You knew he wanted you to be with him when you got like this. 

You stopped at his door, hesitantly knocking. He answered only a moment later, clearly still awake.

“Oh, Y/N,” He whispered surprised, “What are you…” He started to ask before stopping himself as he took in your form. Your hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles and still damp in some places, and your clothes weren’t in much better shape. He also noted the sweatshirt you were wearing, the one you’d mainly wear after you… 

“Did you…?” He asked trailing off while taking your hand and leading you inside.

“Yeah.” You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. You closed the door behind you. Van Gogh let go of your hand, leaving you standing in the front of the door, and walked over to his mini fridge. 

“Did you tend to them?” He asked while walking back over to you, handing you a cold bottle of water. 

“I did.” You answered, opening the water bottle and chugging some of it down. You took your shoes off before following him to his bed and sitting down. He sat down next to you, taking the half empty water bottle and placing on the nightstand next to his bed. 

“May I?” He asked while placing his hand utop you, teasing at your sleeve. 

“Go ahead.” You answered, feeling Van Gogh pull your sleeves back. Even if you weren’t looking at him, you knew that he had a frown on his face as he rubbed circles into the bandages with his thumbs. 

“Do you…” he began but hesitated, “Feel a bit better?” He finished and that when you looked over at him. Even though the lighting was dim, you could see the thin layer of tears that glazed over his eyes. 

“A bit.” You answered after a moment, “I’m sorry. I tried, I  _ really  _ did I promise, it’s just so…hard sometimes to stop myself from doing it.” You said with a quiet cry at the end. You pulled your arms away from him, pressing them to your chest before laying down on your side, facing away from him. You didn’t start sobbing like you thought you would, instead you just laid there, clutching your bandaged arms to yourself while tears silently fell from your eyes. You felt so heavy.

“Hey,” You heard Van Gogh whisper, suddenly right by your ear, “Don’t apologize. There’s nothing for you to apologize to me for.” Van Gogh brought your head into his lap as he threaded his thin fingers through your hair with one hand, rubbing your shoulder with the other. 

“It’s alright, I know how hard it is to fight the urges. I’m just glad that you’re, for the most part, okay.” Van Gogh said with a sad smile. You looked up at him and rubbed his cheek, noticing a tear fall from his left eye. 

“Don’t cry,” You whispered, “If you start crying, I’m gonna start crying and then we’re just gonna be a sobbing mess.” You said in an attempt to cheer you both up. He smiled before saying,

“Alright, I’m just…” He began, pausing, “I’m just glad that you’re-that you’re still here.” He finished and you felt the air leave your lungs. Your bottom lip started trembling and before you could stop it more warm tears began to flow from your eyes. 

“Christ, Van Gogh, don’t say shit like that.” You said while sitting up from his lap, rubbing at your puffy eyes. You felt him wrap his short arms around your waist and you sighed in his grasp. 

“Sorry,” He said, his words being muffled by your back, “But it’s true. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

Your shoulders slumped down as the tension left them. You placed your hands over top where he had his around you, patting them in a silent plead to let you go. He, reluctantly, did and you turned yourself around to face him. He gently grabbed your hand again, turned it palm up before pressing soft kisses to the inside of your wrists. You stared at him for a moment, your face becoming unbelievably hot, before you giggled, pressing your other hand against his cheek.

“Stop it you fucking-NERD!” You laughed as he started chuckling himself, but didn’t pull away for you just yet. He continued pressing kisses up your arm until he reached the end of the bandages, which is when he looked you in the eyes. He moved his face away from your before kissing your lips. 

His lips were soft and warm while your were chapped and cold because of the dehydration and blood loss. You moaned softly into the kiss as his hand found his way onto your cheek and into your hair. You cupped his cheek as the two of you continued to kiss. 

It was soft and chaste and just everything you needed and before you stop him he pulled away, a smile gracing his pale face. You couldn’t help but smile at how he looked; he was cute yet handsome and you absolutely loved him. 

“Have you eaten anything yet?” Van Gogh asked, eyebrows slightly raised in question. 

“Not since this afternoon.” You answered. He sighed before getting off the bed and walking towards his kitchen. 

“Wait here,” He said, “I’ll see if I’ve got anything for you.” You wanted to tell him he didn’t have to, that you didn’t need anything, but the pangs of hunger that you felt stopped you.

“Okay.” You answered, grabbing your water bottle and finishing it off. He came back after a minute and handed you a poptart and another bottle of water. 

“Sorry, I don’t have much to eat here.” He said with a nervous chuckle. 

“It’s fine.” You said while opening the packet, “Thank you, love.” He smiled before recycling the empty bottle of water. He came back and sat down on the bed next to you while you ate your poptart. He leaned his head on your arm and rubbed your thigh with his thumb. 

You finished the poptart before getting up and throwing the wrapper away. Van Gogh had ushered you back and you returned to him, flopping face down onto his bed. Van Gogh made his way over to where you were on the bed and kissed the back of your head. 

“Come on, get up.” He said and you complied, heaving your body onto the bed and facing him. He scurried to the top of the bed, laid down and patted the space next to him. Taking the hint, you made your way next to him and as soon as you had stopped moving he pressed himself to yourself. His face was in the crook of your neck and he pressed a kiss to the soft spot on the bottom of your jaw. You giggled before wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your chin on his head, paying no mind to the slight itch of his bandages. He wrapped his arms around your neck, continuing to pepper it with soft kisses. 

He eventually stopped, and it was quiet for a moment and you didn’t like it. You never liked it when it was quiet. Made you think.

“Hey,” Van Gogh began, pulling you out of your thoughts, “Would you…like to talk about it?” He asked. You face scrunched in thought before you simply answered, 

“Not really; not tonight at least.” 

“Okay, that’s fine.” He responded. You subconsciously pressed Van Gogh tighter to you as the room when silent again. He seemed to take notice of this because he, in turn, pressed you tighter to him. 

“Hey, did you want to be held tonight?” Van Gogh asked and you felt your eyes water at the question.

“Yes…” You whimpered, letting go of your death grip on him. The two of you shifted before settling in a position where your face was now in his chest and his chin was now on your head. It was a bit awkward considering that you were a few inches taller than him, but you made it work. You breathed in his seemingly permanent scent of turpentine, MSC, and paint -- specifically oil. 

Your eyes began to water as you wrapped your arms back around his waist. You couldn’t help the sob that tore through your throat a moment later and it seemed that Van Gogh didn’t mine, running his fingers through your H/C hair. 

You began crying into his chest, not even trying to quiet it down, and Van Gogh let you. He continued to run his hands through your hair, whispering sweet comforts to you while you cried. 

It hurt, everything just hurt so  _ damn much _ . You weren’t even sure why you were upset, why you were hurting, in the first place. What happened today wasn’t even that bad, but…considering the events of the days before today…

You’re not sure how long the two of you stayed like that, your face pressed to Van Gogh’s chest and his hands in your hair, but you did know that when you did stop you felt utterly tired. You were already exhausted when you got here, but now all you wanted to do was curl up with Van Gogh and sleep. 

“Do you feel better now?” Van Gogh asked after your sobs had died down. You nodded a ‘yes’ into his chest and felt him kiss your forehead in response, “Good.” 

“Thank you, Vince.” You whispered into his chest. 

“Of course, liefde.” He whispered back, resting his hands around your shoulders. “I love you, Y/N.” Your arms involuntarily gripped him harder, holding him tighter, as that familiar burn returned to your throat. That burn made it difficult to speak and you were barely able to choke out a response.

“I love you too, Vincent.” You tilted your head up a bit and managed to press a few kisses to Van Gogh’s neck, earning a chuckle in response. 

“Alright, alright,” Van Gogh started, pulling himself away from your onslaught of kisses, “Get some rest. You and I both know you need it.” You hummed in acknowledgement before responding. 

“So do you,” You pressed your face back into his neck, “Goodnight, Vince.” 

Van Gogh pressed one last kiss to your head before saying, 

“Goodnight, Y/N.”


End file.
